Monday, June 14, 2010

Late Saturday afternoon, my husband returned from a week away at camp. After he showered and dressed and smelled Not Like Campfire, we promptly went on a date.

We got a table at one of my favorite restaurants, enjoying conversation, catching up on each others' week. We shared an appetizer, a salad, and a pizza. While enjoying my second slice, I bit down on something. It was hard. And tiny. And not cheese or a mushroom, which are the only things we ordered to be on the pizza. My tongue tried to investigate: a peppercorn? No, not peppery taste. A seed? No, I didn't break it with my teeth. I decided to daintily remove it from my mouth. What the . . .?

A screw.

A tiny, metal screw.

I showed it to Darin, and then called over the host. "Hi, I have something to show you." When he arrived at our tableside I opened my hand to reveal the screw in my left palm. "This was in my pizza."

His jaw dropped, and he took the screw from me. "Oh my, a screw," he whispered.

"Yes. In my pizza."

A thoughtful look on his face, he said, "The weird thing is, I think I know exactly where this came from."

"Really?" I asked. "Well, I hope the building doesn't fall down."

"I don't think it will," he said, while walking away. "I'll take that pizza off your bill."

"Thank you," I called.

After sharing our dessert and paying our bill, Darin and I stood up to leave. As we were walking out the door, the host called out to us, "Good-bye! Sorry again about the screw."

As soon as he said it, my mind accessed a file of a quote I didn't think I'd ever, EVER be able to use in an actual conversation.

Um, maybe it came from the kitchen? What a dumb response. I don't know where it came from??? Like you expected an answer. Ha, no, you expected an apology and free pizza. Dude, I would have pushed for free everything ;)